


back to the light

by mistilteinn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (or is it???), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (sort of), Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Human AU, M/M, Monster of the Week, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, buzzfeed unsolved au, look nobody asked for this but everybody needs it, why did i go so hard on the jaskier/dara friendship???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22275466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistilteinn/pseuds/mistilteinn
Summary: Sure, yes, his partner Contessa de Stael was transferred to a different department of Buzzfeed last week, and, no, he doesn’t have a cohost (or even a desk neighbor) anymore, but the one thing that Jaskier is above all else is optimistic.He’s sure that he’s going to get a new cohost, deskmate, and - Melitele willing - friend. Today. Or possibly tomorrow. Next week at the absolute latest.The Buzzfeed Unsolved AU that literally nobody asked for. It may not be what you need, but it's what you deserve.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 128
Kudos: 1247





	back to the light

**Author's Note:**

> swore to myself that i would break this into chapters, but here i am with 12k of story all at once. enjoy.
> 
> (title from "Golden" - Harry Styles)

Jaskier is well aware of his flaws. Well, most of them. 

He lies about his height (but only by an inch or so - not enough to hurt anyone, and his shoes usually give him that extra bit anyway, and who even cares about the difference between 5’10 and 5’9 in the first place?).

And, well, anyway. The point remains. Jaskier is _aware_ of his little quirks. 

He talks too much, falls in love too easily, indulges in the pleasures of the flesh a bit too often, etcetera, etcetera. 

What he is _not_ is crazy. 

He’s got a good nose for a story and once he catches a whiff of it, he doesn’t let go until he’s got something worth posting about. That’s how he’s got his own web series with thousands of adoring fans at the tender young age of his early- to mid-twenties. 

And, sure, yes, his partner Contessa de Stael was transferred to a different department of Buzzfeed last week, and, no, he doesn’t have a cohost (or even a desk neighbor) anymore, but the one thing that Jaskier is above all else is optimistic. 

He’s sure that he’s going to get a new cohost, deskmate, and - Melitele willing - friend. Today. Or possibly tomorrow. Next week at the absolute latest.

So sure of that is Jaskier that he’s not even surprised when he comes back from a brainstorming meeting with the other producers to find a pile of personal effects sat at the computer next to his. 

He pauses before slipping into his seat, casually scanning over the items, and catches his coworker Triss’s eye from a few spaces away. Rather predictably, she’s still here while all of their other coworkers have gone out to lunch.

She shrugs at him and mimes zoning into her editing and he nods in understanding, a bit surprised at least when she pulls her headphones off, fluffing her curls over her shoulder with preternatural grace. 

She says, “Sorry Jas, they must have been in and out in like a minute! I didn’t even notice when Yen brought your new neighbor to drop their stuff before the tour.” 

“Right, they must’ve - just as fast as the wind, I’d bet,” Jaskier answers, knowing damn well that Triss wouldn’t notice the building collapsing around her if it fell while she was editing. 

It’s a running joke and somewhat of a legend that she completely missed a fire alarm while working on a deadline two years ago. People say that the firefighters had to physically carry the laptop in order to get her out of the place. 

Triss is still watching him with laser focus - she’s the best in their department, no doubt, and she’s by far the one Jaskier would want on his team in a time crunch, but her attention is still slightly unnerving when it’s all trained on him like now. 

He clears his throat and speaks again, “Well, thanks for keeping an eye out. Hopefully the new guy is willing to work on Unsolved with me.” He pauses and then barrels on, never quite sure when to stop. “Otherwise it’s a lost cause, ha.”

Triss quirks her lip in a crooked smile, and the weight of the air around him dissipates immediately. “The bigwigs will renew your show, bard - with or without a cohost. They’d be mad to ignore the numbers you’re bringing to the channel.”

Jaskier sends her a grateful smile and the tense little ball in his stomach loosens a bit.

“For what it’s worth,” Triss starts, turning back to her computer and already pulling her headphones on again, “I’d love to be on it if only I weren’t so damn busy all the time.”

And, strangely, it’s worth quite a bit. Jaskier knows that his series is objectively successful - each video has gotten in the tens of thousands of hits, and that’s not too shabby for their burgeoning little motion picture department - but that only goes so far when all he hears is derision from his coworkers. Wide-eyed stares from across the lunch hall. Whispers in the conference room. Blunt questions aimed to embarrass - “You don’t _really_ believe in ghosts, do you?”

So it means a lot to have one of his most respected coworkers vouch for him, even in such a small way. 

Jaskier sits at his desk a little straighter after that, feeling oddly calm about his new neighbor. Cohost, friend, both, or neither, it will all work out. He knows it will.

\---

Jaskier doesn’t actually meet his new neighbor until the next day - he’s deep in his research on a demon haunting some bridge over in the southern part of the Continent when someone yanks the headphones off of his head, startling him.

He jumps (and does _not_ yelp, thankyouverymuch), only to see one of the higher-ups in the company standing over his shoulder with an unknown man to his side.

“Jasper,” Stregobor says with poorly disguised distaste, “this is your neighbor, Geralt de Rivia.” 

Jaskier considers correcting him for a moment, but he’s already turned back to the admittedly striking man next to him. “Your eyes are truly remarkable, Geralt. You said they’re…?”

“Hazel,” Geralt answers, a stony expression over his face. Jaskier can’t really see his eyes from the angle he’s craning his head at, but he’s got no doubt that they, like everything else on this man, are stunning - all hard edges and taut curves under soft clothing, and _woah Jaskier, calm down._

“Really,” Stregobor says, not actually asking. “In the light, they almost appear more -”

“Hazel,” Geralt repeats, turning a vaguely threatening smile towards the man next to him. Jaskier glances between the two of them for a moment, a bit shocked. He’s always been rather frightened of Stregobor himself, but he supposes that when one is over six feet tall and built like a brick house, a slightly skeevy off-putting older man is just that.

“Right,” Stregobor finally says, breaking eye contact with Geralt. His mouth is downturned into something of a frown, and he rests his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, an unwelcome weight that suddenly makes him feel claustrophobic in the open-plan office. 

Jaskier tries not to physically shrug it off, grits his teeth, and Stregobor continues, “I suppose I’d better leave you two to get comfortable.”

The older man turns a leery smile to Jaskier and finally, blessedly, pulls his hand away. Jaskier smiles unsteadily up at him and does his best to not visibly shudder. 

“Hmm,” Geralt says to Stregobor’s retreating back and sits down, almost comically too big for his assigned space. 

Jaskier scoots his mousepad a few inches closer to himself to give Geralt that much more precious real estate and resists the urge to stare openly at him. He looks out of the corner of his eye, assessing. 

And the thing is - Geralt’s, like, _really_ hot. 

Jaskier’s the first to admit that he’s not exactly discerning when it comes to his bedmates, but if he had a type, Geralt would be pretty much right on the money. Tall, broody, a strong jaw, tall, looks like he could haul Jaskier over his shoulder without breaking a sweat, and _tall._

“Like what you see?” Geralt asks, startling Jaskier into movement. He jumps and turns fully, coming into direct eye contact with his neighbor for the first time. And Stregobor was actually right about one thing; Geralt’s eyes are more than just hazel. They’re -

“Golden,” Jaskier breathes. The teasing smile slides off of Geralt’s face at that and they stare at each other for a long second before Jaskier swallows nervously, shattering the moment. 

Geralt turns to his monitor and glares as if he can’t quite figure out how to work it. Jaskier is still somewhat unmoored by the monumental shift in his little world and decides that the only way to gain some power back is to bring some familiarity into the situation. By speaking, obviously.

“So, did you dream of working for Buzzfeed for a long time?” He asks, somewhat surprised when Geralt turns to look at him once again.

“No,” the other man grits out as if it pains him to answer a simple question. Still, it’s enough of a response that Jaskier can continue their riveting conversation. 

“Oh! One of the competing news companies, then? Huffington Post? The Sun?” Jaskier leans in at that and says in a conspiratorial tone, “might just be me, but you don’t seem like a Jezebel type of guy.”

Instead of laughing and smiling at Jaskier’s obvious charm, Geralt all but glowers at him. Jaskier feels himself deflate a little.

“Perhaps Instagram? Facebook?” He tries next. Jaskier knows he’s being annoying now, but he can’t help but try to get Geralt to look at him one more time, already missing the heat of his glare once it's gone.

“Perhaps,” Geralt starts, and Jaskier perks up, intrigued, “you should focus on your work.”

\---

A month later and Jaskier’s anxiously tapping his mouse, reading over his script for the first episode of the new season of Unsolved. It’ll have to do, he decides. Three rounds of editing haven’t given him the usual security in his work - mostly because he still doesn’t have a cohost to send his research to.

He’ll just have to figure something out then. Preferably before tomorrow afternoon, when he’s got the camera room reserved, and well before Friday, when the episode is actually scheduled to go up. 

Geralt slides silently into his seat as he often does, and to Jaskier’s credit, he doesn’t even jump this morning. Well, he doesn’t jump very much. 

“Just trying to finalize my script for Unsolved before I lose my mind,” Jaskier says casually, casting a sidelong glance towards his neighbor and receiving barely a nod in acknowledgment. 

Geralt hasn’t _actually_ asked why he’s at work well before any of their coworkers have arrived, but Jaskier is developing a fantastic sense for when Geralt wants to know something but doesn’t want to admit that he wants to know it. 

Just last week Jaskier had caught Geralt brooding at the communal coffee machine, a fearsome frown on his face. 

_“You...put your mug here and press the button,” Jaskier says, demonstrating. Geralt turns a different sort of expression to him then._

_“I need a mug.” He says slowly, looking almost...embarrassed?_

_Jaskier purses his lips and glances downward. He’s had three cups already today. He makes a decision, holding the steaming cup out for Geralt to take._

_“Just leave it in the sink when you’re done,” he says, ignoring the way his heart jumps when their fingers brush together._

So caught in his reminiscing is he that Jaskier startles out of it, blinking at Geralt with wide eyes when the other man nudges him. 

He absently rubs the warm spot where Geralt (voluntarily!) touched him and says hesitantly, “...what?”

Geralt clears his throat, unnecessarily glancing around them for eavesdroppers. No one in the motion picture department comes to work before 10 am on Mondays anyway. 

“I said, why?” Geralt repeats, brow furrowed and trademark frown firmly in place.

“Why what?” Jaskier asks, very distinctly not thinking about how cute the little line between Geralt’s eyebrows is. 

Geralt squints at him for a moment and asks hesitantly, like he’s not burning to know. “Why are you losing your mind?”

“Oh,” Jaskier says dumbly. This may well be the first time that Geralt has actively encouraged conversation between the two of them. “Well, I don’t have a cohost to bounce ideas off of, and my show is basically dead in the water if I don’t find someone by tomorrow afternoon.” Geralt nods at him, which could either mean ‘continue’ or ‘this conversation is over.’

Jaskier takes a chance and goes on, the words rushing out of him all at once. “If you wanted, you could host it with me. Believe it or not, the fans don’t flock to each episode just to stare at my pretty face - they come for the two Bs. Brutality and banter.” 

At Geralt’s silence, Jaskier keeps talking. “And, well, they won’t exactly get banter with just me there, will they? Although I suppose I could talk to myself the whole time. Well, I suppose I’ll already be - and you’re putting headphones on now. Good, I was about to do that as well. Better get back to work, I say.”

Geralt doesn’t respond. He’s just staring at his blank screen like a psychopath.

“So are you thinking to work on Unsolved with me? There’s an empty chair with your name on it if you’d like.” Jaskier tries one more time, nudging Geralt with his shoulder. When the other doesn’t give him so much as a half-assed glare, Jaskier sighs and turns back to his own monitor. 

“Well, that’s...brilliant,” he mutters to himself. "Bloody brilliant."

\---

Jaskier walks up to the third-floor camera room the next afternoon with dread in each step, not unlike a prisoner might have whilst heading to the gallows. 

He avoids eye contact with Yennefer, the motion picture department manager, and sidesteps his friend Foltest, for once not in the mood to make off-color jokes about their respective families. 

Yen smirks at him as he passes and he feels her mocking gaze trail him down the hallway until he steps into the stairwell. She’s been jockeying for his show to be canceled ever since he got the greenlight, and he’s pretty sure she’s got something to do with his inability to find a cohost. And possibly Contessa’s untimely transfer in the first place, now that he thinks about it. 

Besides his suspicions about his boss, Jaskier’s also not looking forward to spending the next couple of hours with only Dara the camera operator for company.

It’s not that he’s racist - elves as a whole are perfectly lovely people, he’s sure, but Dara is, well, kind of strange. He’s just very quiet and intense, and he doesn’t seem to have the greatest grasp on social niceties. 

Come to think of it, most of the people Jaskier has met recently have been quiet and intense and lacking in the social nicety department. Maybe it’s just Jaskier who has a sparkling personality and endless charm, then.

Jaskier shrugs as he opens the door to the shooting space, flicks on the light, and nearly shits himself when he sees someone sitting at the table already.

And not just any person, he realizes, Geralt himself - the quietest and most intense of all of his recent acquaintances. 

“Geralt! Ah, hello,” Jaskier says with a hand over his chest as he tries to will his heart rate back down to a normal pace. “What the fuck, why are you here? Why - why were you in the dark?!”

“I was meditating,” Geralt says, deadpan. His white-blond hair is half back today, just barely pulled away from his face. He looks - good. Even better than he did with it all up yesterday if that’s possible.

“Right,” Jaskier says, ruffling his own hair and stepping forward. He has all of his supplies in hand - the scripts, the infographics, his laptop for the slide show, everything. He’s got to set up his stuff before Dara gets here, weird hot desk neighbor notwithstanding.

Geralt holds out a hand for his papers when Jaskier gets close to the table, and without thinking much of it, he hands the manila folder over. 

“Hey, did you read the HuffPost article from yesterday about the royal family drama?” Jaskier asks just to break the anxiety he feels over Geralt reading his careful research. 

“Hmm, no,” Geralt says, not taking his eyes off of Jaskier’s annotated diagram of a wyvern. He picks up a pencil and scratches out one of Jaskier’s notes, writing something else in its place. “I don’t follow the news. Media’s a crock of shit.”

Jaskier doesn’t exactly disagree, but still, he frowns at the other man amidst unpacking his bag. “If you hate news media so much, why do you work here?” He asks.

“Student loans,” Geralt says shortly, and isn’t that just the truth?

“This episode is about the continued sightings of wyverns in the Midwest,” Jaskier changes the subject, summarizing his video rather succinctly. He sets up his laptop while Geralt continues to peruse his script. Jaskier pulls the charger out and finds a nearby outlet in just in case, unsure of how much he’s going to be using it during the shoot. If he’s going to be talking to himself, he’ll potentially reference it quite a lot.

“Wyverns are long extinct,” Geralt says after a few minutes of rustling and reading. Jaskier glances over at him, wondering how likely it is that he’s about to lose any regard his neighbor previously held him in. He decides to go for it, figuring that Geralt’s open expression means he wants this conversation to continue.

“That’s just what the official reports say,” Jaskier says lightly, tapping the page of his notes that Geralt’s got open. “I’ve got at least a dozen sightings over the last couple of years alone here.”

Geralt glances down at them for a moment, frowning. Then he looks at Jaskier again, his face barely moving a muscle as he says, “I thought witchers killed them all off.”

Jaskier snorts at that, tilting his head at Geralt. He’s surprised to hear the stoic man say the word - even Jaskier doesn’t believe in the old wives’ tales about witchers. 

He says as much. “Witchers are nothing but a myth, handed down through the generations as a convenient explanation for why all of the ancient creatures started disappearing in the wake of human and elven societal expansion and picked up lately by parents who just want their children to go to bed on time.”

Geralt stares at him for a long moment, unblinking. 

Jaskier’s starting to get uncomfortable when Dara comes in, startling him from their heavy eye contact. 

He glances up at his elven cameraman (camera-elf?) bustling about, checking angles and moving the lighting around. It occurs to him that Dara’s setting up for two people to sit at the table and talk monsters, and he’s not entirely sure that Geralt isn’t about to leave once the film starts rolling. 

Fortunately for him, Dara seeks out the answer to that question rather efficiently. Once he’s finished with his set up, he points to Geralt and asks, “new host?”

Jaskier once again looks over at his neighbor, the same question on the tip of his tongue. Geralt inclines his head slightly towards Dara and nearly imperceptibly nods, his intense gaze still trained on Jaskier.

“Yes?” Jaskier says. 

And so they shoot.

\---

The new episode is a fucking hit, to put it mildly. 

It goes viral within a couple of hours of the premiere on Friday afternoon, and by the time Jaskier arrives at the office on Monday morning (still more than a little hungover), it’s got well over a million views. It’s by far the biggest video on Buzzfeed’s channel.

Jaskier feels like a rockstar. He’s been getting DMs all weekend with more sightings, new followers, and an email from the CEO of the company herself congratulating him.

He goes so far as to buy Geralt a beautiful mug to celebrate - it’s bright orange and says “I Heart My Costar.” 

Geralt is clearly in a fantastic mood himself if his pained grimace upon opening Jaskier’s gift is anything to go by. He doesn’t even growl at Yennefer when she openly laughs at it. 

He does, however, growl when Jaskier tries to document them at the office coffee machine together for the benefit of their fans. 

“No pictures,” he says in that low, rumbly tone that goes straight to Jaskier’s knees. 

Jaskier just smiles at him, a bit wobbly, and puts his phone away. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the episode after next,” he says when Geralt abruptly turns away, making to leave the break room. 

He pauses for a moment before sighing and turns around to watch Jaskier put sugar and creamer into his coffee. Geralt raises his eyebrow impatiently when Jaskier tastes his drink and adds another spoonful of sugar.

“Well?” He asks. 

“The fans,” Jaskier starts, and Geralt rolls his eyes. He hurriedly continues, “they left some really great comments! They loved our dynamic - they’ve already dubbed us ‘Geraskier’ can you believe? Anyway, they seem to have come to a general consensus: they want more.”

Geralt is quiet for a moment, as he often is, and watches Jaskier stir his coffee into oblivion. He says eventually, voice flat and devoid of emotion, “we’re already giving them more episodes.”

“That’s what I thought too!” Jaskier says excitedly. Geralt looks at his face then, and he feels heat creep up to the surface of his skin. “But they want more _in_ the episodes - ten minutes isn’t enough for them. We’re shooting this week’s video tomorrow, so I don’t really have time to research and write entire new sections, but next week we’ve got a case of an alleged bruxa in Corvo Bianco and I figured we could add more to the script.”

Geralt stares at him appraisingly for a long moment before he hedges, “I suppose the Powered Points aren’t enough for them, then? Perhaps we should travel to Corvo Bianco and investigate directly.”

Jaskier laughs lightly, “PowerPoints, Geralt. Honestly, how did you graduate from university without access to a computer?”

He doesn’t press at Geralt’s silence. Jaskier knows that the undergraduate experience and accompanying student loans are a sore subject for many of their coworkers. 

“Although...it’s not a bad idea, staging an actual investigation for the video? It could really keep this momentum going.” Jaskier muses, eyeing Geralt as he blinks in apparent agreement. Jaskier nods to himself and takes a sip of his drink, very nearly shuddering in delight at both the taste and his own brilliance. “I’ll request an overnight trip and accommodations with Tissaia directly - she seems to support the show and I don’t think Yen would risk going against her approval.” 

Geralt nods and suddenly steps in far closer than Jaskier expects. 

He steps back hastily, stumbling against the counter he had been leaning on and nearly sloshes hot coffee over his front. His hand goes out to steady himself and lands on the firm muscle of Geralt’s chest; Jaskier looks up at him, dumbfounded. He’s caged in, his _tallhotweird_ desk neighbor surrounding him on all sides.

Geralt is looking above Jaskier with ferocity in his gaze before he strikes, killing something that had been crawling down the cabinet behind Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Jaskier flinches at the dull thump of Geralt’s hand against the cheap plywood of their kitchenette and finds himself staring at the other man’s neck, at the corded muscle and tanned skin. He catches a glimpse of a scar poking out from under the neck of Geralt’s hoodie and he wonders how it got there, what it would feel like under his fingers.

Slowly Jaskier’s gaze tracks upwards to meet with Geralt’s, the taller man’s eyes burning hot and molten. He swallows and watches as Geralt watches the motion of his throat.

“I thought I saw a tse tse fly going for you,” Geralt says quietly, and Jaskier blinks up at him. 

“They aren’t found on the Continent…” He starts, trailing off as Geralt brushes a hand under his jaw, angling his head upwards with the slightest amount of pressure. 

And Jaskier is aching for it between his legs, heat licking up against his skin like fire. The only true relief will be Geralt’s lips against his own, he knows. 

Geralt’s heart beats under his hand, strong and true, the fabric of his jumper soft against Jaskier’s palm. He lets his eyes slowly fall shut, the warmth from Geralt’s golden gaze soothing the blood rushing through his veins, and leans in just the slightest bit, so he can feel Geralt’s breath over his lips. 

The hand under his chin shifts, curls back to cup his jaw and Jaskier shivers delightedly, white sparks alighting deep in his belly. 

They’re so close, he can feel it - 

Geralt steps back abruptly, leaving Jaskier cold and bereft. 

He moves forward, opening his eyes to gaze upon the other man, a bit wounded and dazed to boot. 

Geralt shoots him a warning look when he tries to follow and Jaskier stops in his tracks, more than a little flushed, embarrassment and arousal twisting in his stomach like a set of particularly treacherous thorn bushes. 

Yennefer steps into the room and Jaskier suddenly understands. Geralt must have heard her approaching. Either that, or he changed his mind very suddenly about kissing Jaskier. He prefers not to consider that option, though, so he assumes that it’s the former.

Yen glances between them suspiciously and levels a glare at Jaskier. “You’re supposed to shoot tomorrow afternoon?” She asks without preamble.

Jaskier is surprised to be addressed directly and scrambles to answer intelligently. “Ah, yes. I’ve got the room reserved and everything -”

“Not anymore,” Yennefer interrupts, silencing him with a raised finger. Rude. “Fringilla needs the room for a Ladylike video and it’s time-sensitive. You’re bumped to Thursday morning.”

Jaskier feels his mouth fall open. “But my video has to be up by Friday -”

“Don’t care. Deal with it,” she says, already turning away, and slips out of the room as silently as she’d arrived.

Jaskier stares after her for a long moment. He’s got no idea how he’s supposed to get all the editing done in twenty-four hours.

“Fuck,” Geralt says. 

Jaskier wholeheartedly agrees.

\---

Jaskier’s trip to Corvo Bianco is approved, though following the numbers from their wyvern video, it’s not much of a surprise that Tissaia de Vries secures the requested funds. 

Dara is coming with them, and Jaskier figures that he probably should have asked first, but the elf seems happy when Jaskier brings it up during their shoot for the Strange Foglet Infestation of Svorlag on Thursday morning. 

“Of course I will accompany,” Dara says flatly, adjusting the frame so as to not cut off the top of Geralt’s head. “Who else would keep you alive when the bruxa attacks?”

“Glad you’re excited to be - hold on. Did you just say the bruxa will attack? Geralt? Geralt?!” Jaskier looks over at his cohost, who presently appears to be dissociating. He shoves the taller man lightly, catching his attention. 

“What?” Geralt gruffly asks, and Jaskier pushes down the flare of fear curling in his chest. Geralt won’t let anything happen to him. He’s sure of it.

“The bruxa won’t attack, right? I mean, we’re going to be safe - right?”

Geralt rolls his eyes and, somehow, Jaskier’s comforted by the familiar expression. “Bruxae don’t exist, Jaskier. We’re just going to investigate some woods in the dark.”

“See, I appreciate that sentiment, I very much do, but on the other hand I have all of these very reliable eyewitness accounts right here clearly stating that they are, in fact, real, and I just think -”

“Rolling,” Dara says, cutting him off quite efficiently. 

\---

Jaskier owes a great thanks to Dara for staying late on Thursday night to help him with the video - there’s no way that he would be able to sort through their hours of footage, record the voiceover, add in the appropriate animations, and edit everything by himself. 

He supposes that he could have asked Geralt, but he’s still not sure that the other man actually knows anything about video production, and also Jaskier probably (definitely) would have spent the entire evening flirting and trying to make him laugh instead of actually working. 

“Truly, I can’t thank you enough,” he says to his elven coworker (friend?) once more. “How can I repay you?”

Dara doesn’t take his eyes off of the screen, where he’s presently inserting an effect that exaggerates Jaskier’s horrified expression when Geralt makes a sardonic remark about foglets resembling overgrown glow worms. 

“It is nothing,” Dara answers eventually. “I have nothing else to do.”

“Oh, come on,” Jaskier says, a teasing note to his voice as he cuts together two clips of his voiceover. “I’m sure you’ve got plenty of loved ones, perhaps a fair maiden waiting for you - ?”

Dara slumps back in his chair and levels a curiously flat expression at Jaskier. Jaskier tilts his head and slowly pulls his hands away from the keyboard.

The silence between them is unbearable.

“...what?” Jaskier asks, more than a little hesitant. He had no idea that Dara’s personal life was such a sore subject.

“My entire family is dead,” Dara says matter-of-factly. Jaskier blanches. 

“What?!” The sound Jaskier lets out is more of a squawk than anything else, but Dara seems to understand it well enough.

The way he speaks is horrible - so calm and polite as he explains. 

“Human extremists broke into our home ten years ago on Samhain and brutalized them. My grandmother hid me in the linen closet under some towels and made me swear not to make any noise. I wish she hadn’t. I should have been out there with them.”

Jaskier can barely get the words out, “n - no. You were a _child.”_

Dara shrugs and looks up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes. “The police didn’t even look for the people who did it, did you know? They just sent me a letter of condolence after a few weeks.”

Jaskier notices then that Dara’s hand is shaking where it lies on the desk. He hesitates for a moment before reaching out and laying his own over top, clumsily trying to comfort him.

Dara looks down at where their hands are joined and presses his lips together in a thin smile. He squeezes their hands together for a moment before sitting up. 

“Thanks,” Dara says. Jaskier looks at him questioningly. “You’ve always treated me just as you treat everyone else. You’re irritating as hell, don’t get me wrong, but - it’s nice to be a person to someone.”

Jaskier sends a small smile to his friend. He takes a shaky breath and speaks. “I’m glad that my presence is a balm - wait. Did you say that I’m annoying?”

\---

Geralt disappears soon after they check in to the hotel and stays gone during the entirety of dinner. Jaskier’s not overly worried about it - he knows that jetlag can be a bitch, and Geralt ate on the plane anyway like some kind of savage. 

Nevertheless, when he arrives back at their room, he’s relieved to hear the other man in the shower. He’s feeling a little jittery from Dara’s lighthearted (he thinks) teasing during their meal and wants to talk before he can’t sleep all night and Geralt inevitably makes him get up at the bloody crack of dawn to interview locals for possible sightings. 

Jaskier wrinkles his nose at the pile of soiled clothes next to Geralt’s bag. He’s got no idea how the man managed to get so dirty between the plane touching down and now - the clothes are covered in a slippery black substance. 

He shrugs and turns to his own bag. Perhaps Geralt had to change the oil in the rental car.

Jaskier rustles through his research materials and shudders when he comes upon an artist’s rendition of the beast they’re investigating. Not for the first time, he’s glad that Geralt is sharing a room with him.

The water shuts off in the bathroom and Jaskier elects to get prepared for bed before Geralt emerges and no doubt mocks him for believing in the bruxa. He’s settled under his covers with the most detailed of his witness reports when Geralt finally comes out of the bathroom, freshly shaven and fully dressed in sleep pants and a long-sleeved shirt.

Jaskier frowns at him - not that he doesn’t look good, because Geralt could be wearing a rotten drowner corpse and Jaskier would still very much want to climb him like a tree - but they’re in the southern part of the Continent during the height of summer, and it’s already almost unbearably hot for Jaskier under the covers and he’s only got his second nicest pair of boxers on. 

Melitele’s tits, Geralt is even wearing socks. 

Jaskier slowly raises his gaze to meet Geralt’s and the taller man shrugs. “I run cold,” he says without any further explanation, and turns off the overhead light to leave them only illuminated by the small lamp on the table between their beds.

He hurriedly shoves his dirty clothes into a separate bag and inclines his head towards Jaskier’s papers before asking almost playfully, “some light reading to lull you to sleep?” 

Jaskier chuckles uncomfortably and shuffles his packet, sticking his eyewitness account on the table. It takes him a moment, but he works up the courage to speak once Geralt has flicked the switch to turn off their table lamp and climbed into his own bed.

“Do you -” he starts, cutting himself off. “We won’t get attacked out there, right?”

“Hmm,” Geralt answers. “Hard to say.”

Jaskier sits straight up in his bed, staring at the Geralt-shaped lump a few feet away. He can’t do this. He can’t -

Geralt chuckles, a low rumble that comes from deep within his chest, and speaks. “Calm down - I’m joking, bard. I assure you with the truest confidence that no bruxa will attack you in the night.”

Jaskier breathes out, worrying the thin blanket in his hands. It’s a comforting sensation, the soft fabric against his fingers. Something sticks out to him about what Geralt said, and he has to point it out. “You’ve never called me ‘bard’ before.”

“Hmm,” Geralt answers. At least he’s still conscious, then.

“D’you know why everyone calls me that?” Jaskier asks. He’s desperately curious as to what Geralt thinks of him, what he’s heard.

“Mmm… No,” Geralt answers after a long silence. 

“It started at university, I suppose. Used to be a time when you couldn’t find me without a guitar in my hands. I sang to everyone, all the time. Thought I was gonna make it big one day.” Jaskier’s heart is pounding in his ears, but he feels relief along with the anxiety, like he’s telling Geralt something lifechanging about himself.

Geralt rolls over, the sheets rustling around him. Jaskier can’t tell if it’s to turn away or simply shift positions, but he’d like to think that the other man is turning to face him. 

“What happened?” Geralt asks. 

Jaskier lies back in his bed and tries not to think about how his uncle, his last living family member, disowned him after he came out and expressed a desire to perform, about all of the hateful comments and messages he still sometimes gets on his music videos, about how the last time he performed for a crowd, one of the patrons robbed him in the alley behind the bar, took his earnings and smashed his guitar.

“Just - grew out of it when I lost my guitar, I suppose. Can’t serenade your problems away with nothing to play on,” Jaskier goes for a light, joking tone, but it falls flat in the darkness between them.

Geralt hums in acknowledgment. After a moment, he speaks again, surprising Jaskier. “Does it bother you to be called ‘bard,’ given that?”

Jaskier thinks about it and shakes his head, then realizes that Geralt can’t possibly see the movement. “No,” he says finally. “Reminds me of someone I once was. Someone I could have been, had life been just a little bit different.”

\---

They don’t find anything during their investigation.

Well, according to Geralt, they don’t. 

Jaskier videos some tracks that very clearly belong to a bruxa, but Geralt’s insistent that they could have just as easily come from a human. 

“Yeah, sure, Geralt - a beautiful barefoot woman who likes to walk around in the woods alone at night! Doesn’t sound like a bruxa at all, does it?!” Jaskier snaps, and he could swear that he sees the telltale curve of a smile on Geralt’s lips as he turns away. 

Other notable highlights include both Geralt and Dara mercilessly mocking Jaskier for putting garlic oil behind his ears and a particularly memorable sequence in which Geralt stands alone in a moonlit clearing whilst blindfolded and dares the bruxa to eviscerate him. 

Jaskier nearly loses his mind during that bit, but even he can admit later that the shot of him attempting to bodily remove Geralt from the center of the clearing while shouting _“are you perhaps short of a marble?!”_ at the top of his lungs is quite funny. 

Even before they post the video, Jaskier knows that it’s going to go viral - he can feel it from the top of his head to the very bottom of his feet. 

So sure is he that Jaskier shows the video to Geralt once he does a final pass for edits. He hasn’t shown Geralt their videos before posting thus far - partially because he’s often running late due to bad time management and partially due to the vestiges of worry that cling to him, the little voice in his head that says that Geralt doesn’t actually find him funny, that he just pretends for the camera.

This time he’s feeling brave, though, so he sets Geralt up with a pair of headphones and tries not to anxiously tap on their shared desk while his cohost watches. 

For not being a very emotive man, Geralt responds well to the final video. He smiles at all of the appropriate comedic bits and even huffs out a laugh when they get to the scene in the clearing. At the end of the video, Jaskier’s voiceover pronounces The Bloody Mystery of the Corvo Bianco Bruxa unsolved. Geralt pulls off the headphones slowly and takes a moment to think.

Jaskier tries not to explode from tension.

Finally, Geralt turns to him and says, “you work hard on these.”

Jaskier blinks. 

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he says, looking at the screen, where his name is blazoned in the credits under ‘Producer,’ ‘Editor,’ and ‘Hosted By.’

“Hmm,” Geralt says, and he knows it’s approving by the way that Geralt takes Jaskier’s long empty coffee mug along with his own for a refill. 

\---

Their flight to Kaer Muire is delayed by nearly twelve hours due to storms over the Great Sea, and Jaskier is tense beyond belief by the time they finally land, the sky mercifully clear. Their schedule is ruined, however. They were supposed to take a red-eye and arrive in the early morning in order to catch a few hours of sleep before the investigation, but now they’ll have to interview locals for just a short time and go right into the overnight stay in the swamp. 

No one seems happy about this turn of events, and Jaskier can’t help his prickliness as Geralt drives them off into town. 

“At least you’ll still be able to sleep in a hotel bed tonight,” Jaskier tells Dara after he sighs and readjusts his mic for the third time. “Geralt and I will be sleeping in the swamp.”

A few minutes later Geralt grumbles something about going straight into the formal investigation without breaking and Jaskier frowns, slumping against the window of their rented car. “Yes, yes, Geralt, I know you require your beauty sleep,” he says irritably, “but we’re all just going to have to deal with the consequences of going without on this one day.” 

Geralt and Dara exchange a serious look across the threshold of the car and Jaskier assumes that they’re commiserating about the loss of his usually sunny disposition. Oh well. They’ll just have to get over it. 

The interviews go fine. Some of the villagers are what Jaskier would generously describe as ‘colorful,’ but their collective hostility towards Geralt will probably add to the overall ambiance of the episode. 

After a short dinner, Jaskier and Geralt purchase some snacks for their camping excursion and Dara explains his multiple camera set up to Jaskier once more before darkness truly falls over their site. The next couple of hours are spent gathering suitable wood, setting up their tent and supplies, and building a fire to stay warm. 

Once they are well settled and it is very nearly dark, Dara says goodbye and wishes them luck. Actually, he just stares solemnly at the fire for a moment before turning away, but as one of his close personal friends, Jaskier knows that’s basically Dara-speak for “I love you, sleep well.”

Soon after they’ve set up, Geralt pulls a small flask from his jacket pocket and takes a swig. Jaskier reaches for it, saying, “Don’t mind if I do - I love a good nightcap!” 

Geralt, selfish as he is, yanks the damn thing away and snarls, “Do you want to end up dead?”

“I know that I may appear fine-boned, but you may rest assured: a lightweight I am not,” Jaskier says rather prissily, getting up off of the downed log he’s been sitting on and trying to grab the bottle from Geralt. 

The situation very quickly devolves into a struggle in which Geralt eventually wins by standing up and downing the entire thing. Cheater.

Jaskier glares at him and slumps back down onto his seat, quite sore over his loss. Geralt settles down halfway around the fire onto his sleeping bag and smiles at him. 

For a second Jaskier thinks that the other man’s eyes have gone entirely black, the pupils overtaking his striking gold irises, but then Geralt tilts his head and Jaskier realizes that it must have just been a trick of the firelight.

Jaskier sends a small smile to Geralt and shifts, turning to face their campfire directly. The silence doesn’t sit well with him, however, and soon he finds himself speaking. 

“I wonder if we should encounter the kikimore tonight,” he suggests. An unwelcome shiver scurries down his back at the thought.

“Why don’t you tell me more about the creature?” Geralt asks, uncharacteristically game to hear Jaskier’s ‘utter nonsense.’

“Right,” Jaskier says, thinking back to his notes. “Kikimores are exceedingly rare, even among the creatures we pursue. They generally live either underground or in the most remote of swamps, which is why this potential location stands out. Add to that the unexplained disappearances over the last few months, a few other weird goings-on, and I think we’ve got some hard evidence of one.”

Geralt sighs and lays back, his arms folded behind his head. “Soft evidence,” he corrects lightly, and Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Couldn’t the disappearances also come down to the local drunks wandering into the swamp and getting lost?”

Jaskier frowns into the fire. “I suppose so. I just think it would be irresponsible to dismiss the idea of a kikimore out of hand.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, considering. 

“Tales of them date back to the days of witchcraft and monsters, noble knights and fair princesses,” Jaskier says dully, feeling a bit melancholy and romantic. He pauses for a moment and continues, deigning to share with Geralt some of his more private thoughts. He can edit them out of the video later. “Sometimes I wish we could go back to then.” 

Geralt looks over, raising a brow, and Jaskier knows that’s as much encouragement as he’ll get from the other man. “I mean, look - everything sucks, okay? Yeah, we’ve got modern technology or whatever, and _hospitals_ are nice I suppose, but the supernatural world as a whole has all but disappeared from the collective consciousness. 

“The occasional magical child is born today, but as soon as they show any inclination towards chaos, they’re shipped away never to be seen again. How is that not a human rights violation? 

“And we might pretend that elves have equality, but they’re being murdered in droves across the Continent and the government is doing nothing about it! And you’ve _seen_ the way Dara is treated around the office! It’s like half our coworkers don’t even see him and the other half don’t trust him enough to use their real names when he’s nearby - absolutely disgusting."

Jaskier blows a breath out and finishes, “I’m just telling you, Geralt. We live in the worst time.”

Geralt watches Jaskier for a long moment, his face only partially illuminated by the firelight.

He finally speaks when Jaskier’s gone back to staring moodily at the fire, saying rather cryptically, “well. Not the _worst_ time.”

Jaskier looks up to catch an oddly tender look on Geralt’s face and he blows out a breath. _Right. That._

Geralt’s mouth curves into a smile and Jaskier feels the warmth of attraction curl under his skin. He breathes in -

The swamp explodes around them.

Jaskier screams, falling back off of his log. When he tries to sit up, Geralt shoves him back down harshly, somehow kneeling over him all of a sudden. He’s holding something in his hand that Jaskier can’t immediately identify in the dark.

“Wha - what the fuck? What was that? How did you get over here so fast?” Jaskier tries to ask, but his ears are ringing and he’s stumbling over his words. Geralt looks down at him with a snarl on his lips, and Jaskier flinches, his head painfully knocking back against the hard-packed ground. 

Geralt’s eyes - they’re inhuman. Black all the way through. It’s not a trick of the light.

“Wha…?” Jaskier whimpers and looks down at the object in Geralt’s other hand. It’s a sword. His head hurts.

“Stay down,” Geralt says firmly, with a note to his voice that Jaskier’s fairly sure would turn his tummy liquid in any other context. 

Right now, though, he’s more concerned with the mortal peril they’ve currently found themselves in. 

“You’ve got your phone?” Geralt asks, shaking his shoulder lightly when he doesn’t immediately reply. 

Jaskier nods, already trembling, and Geralt returns it shortly. “Good. Call Dara.” 

He barely holds back a ‘no, please don’t leave’ when the other man stands abruptly, stepping over the log to face whatever is over there. Geralt tosses over his shoulder, “and stay right there, bard,” before he’s gone, out of Jaskier’s field of vision.

Jaskier hears his unmistakable grunts along with an unnatural screech that makes him clap his hands over his ears.

He shuts his eyes and allows himself to panic for a precious three seconds before he gathers his wits and reaches over to his bag, pulling out his pepper spray and his cell phone. 

Jaskier finds Dara’s contact and presses the call button. While it’s ringing, he rolls onto his hands and knees in order to peer over the log. He gasps when he sees the beast that Geralt is battling and his phone slips from his hand. 

Eight segmented legs, an undersized body, and a head frighteningly reminiscent of a man’s - the stories are true. A kikimore stands across the fire from Geralt.

The revelation shocks Jaskier to his core. 

It’s one thing to believe in the things that go bump in the night in theory - Jaskier finds that it’s an entirely different experience to watch the man that he’s spent the last two months dreaming of fight one of those monsters right in front of his eyes.

Jaskier clutches his pepper spray in one hand and crouches behind the log, watching in horror as the kikimore (the real, live, terrifying, _mythical_ beast!) smacks Geralt to the side like he’s a rag doll instead of the very tall, very solid man that Jaskier knows him to be.

Geralt is airborne for a terrible second before he lands in a heap a few feet to the side. Jaskier flinches at the sound his body makes when he hits the ground, and when the kikimore advances on Geralt’s fallen form, he jumps up without hesitating, desperate to draw its attention. 

He shouts, a hoarse cry from deep within his chest, and the creature turns, its awful humanoid eyes focusing on Jaskier. 

For a moment, he feels triumphant as it seems to forget about Geralt. 

Then he realizes that it’s coming for him, and his stomach drops.

“Oh! Oh shit, shit, shit, shit -” Jaskier mutters, stepping back as quickly as he can. The kikimore is close - Jaskier can see saliva dripping from its maw. He’s got to get away, back from its mouth and claws and those terrible eyes.

He trips over something (probably a root - fucking woods) and curses as he goes down. He lands hard on his right wrist and tears spring to his eyes from both the pain and fear. 

He scrambles backward as fast as he can, but cold dread seems to weigh him down, slowing his limbs and allowing the monster to close the gap between them. 

Jaskier cries out when he smacks up against a tree, effectively trapping him. There’s pain from the same spot where his head cracked the ground earlier, but he’s got no chance to comfort himself. He tries to make himself as small as possible, but the kikimore is entirely focused on him. He’s going to die - he’s going to die -

The kikimore raises a cruelly curved claw and brings it down upon him -

Everything goes dark.

The next few things happen so quickly that, later on, it takes Jaskier watching the static cam footage of the campsite several times over in order to put everything together.

The kikimore attacks him, knocking him out and leaving a deep wound running down the length of his arm. 

Dara appears from nowhere and casts some kind of spell, knocking the monster off balance and away from Jaskier’s unconscious body.

It roars, rearing back.

Geralt gets up, moving fast enough that the camera isn’t even able to capture it. In one frame he’s lifting his sword, in the next, he is at the beast’s side. 

A bright light - Dara has illuminated the entire campsite magically. It’s like daylight in the middle of their clearing.

The kikimore screams again - this time, however, it is cut short. It slumps, its huge body collapsing all at once.

Geralt pulls his sword from its head. 

He and Dara converge on Jaskier, crowding him where he lies. 

In the future, Jaskier never watches the tapes beyond that moment, as waking up to both Geralt and Dara’s panicked expressions is horrible enough to experience just the once.

There’s blood everywhere - some of it is Jaskier’s, some is Geralt’s, but the vast majority is black, from the inside of the slain kikimore. 

Jaskier barely has time to panic before Dara is wrapping his left arm tightly and Geralt is holding a bottle to his lips, urging him to drink. 

It tastes foul and Jaskier gags as the mixture slides down his throat, coating it like oil. He turns frightened eyes to Geralt and the other man rests a hand over his shoulder.

“It’ll heal your wound,” Geralt promises evenly - now that the fear has leeched from his face, he just looks exhausted. 

Jaskier can see Dara examining the corpse over Geralt’s shoulder. His expression is pinched when he glances over at the two of them, and it’s fairly clear that he’s holding back for Jaskier’s benefit. 

Geralt sighs and slides his hand up to curl comfortingly around the back of Jaskier’s neck for a moment. When he stands and pulls back, Jaskier wants to follow. He’s overtaken with a bout of nausea, however, when he tries to move, and stays seated against the tree for the time being.

He can hear Dara speaking to Geralt, and the anger present in his voice sends another wave of nausea through his system. Jaskier closes his eyes to listen.

“- swore you would keep Jaskier safe, Geralt! Now he’s in shock! You should have fought harder to let me stay at the camp overnight - we could have overpowered it together!”

Geralt answers in a grunt. Jaskier’s no betting man, but he’d be willing to wager that the taller man’s expression is full of guilt right about now.

Dara isn’t done. His volume increases minutely as he continues. “He’s just a _human_ \- he’s not like us!”

Geralt snaps back, fury equal in measure to Dara’s. “Don’t you think I know that?! I’m going to have to live with knowing that my pride almost got him killed!”

It’s like Jaskier’s brain reboots all of a sudden, replaying Dara’s words. 

_Just a human. Not like us._

The memories fly through his mind, images that never quite made sense all neatly fitting together like a puzzle once the final piece has been found. 

Golden eyes.

Silent movements.

Enhanced hearing.

Minimal knowledge of journalism - make that minimal knowledge of modern technology in general.

Black ichor staining his clothes on the bruxa trip.

How much more has Jaskier missed over the past few months?

How many pieces of evidence has he been blind to - so sure in his own assertion that Geralt is just a normal man.

Not a man, his brain corrects.

“You -” Jaskier says, pointing at Geralt. He’s suddenly furious, embarrassed. He tries to stand, puts too much pressure on his right wrist and curses, glaring daggers at Geralt when he’s immediately at Jaskier’s side.

He helps Jaskier stand, bearing his weight. Jaskier grips the collar of Geralt’s shirt in his right hand. 

“You _lied_ to me -” Jaskier snarls, ineffectively trying to shake Geralt. “You’re a witcher!”

“You never asked!” Geralt’s eyes are almost comically round as he tries to defend himself. It’s clear he’s rehearsed that line before. Jaskier shakes his head fervently, ignoring the sharp pain from the movement.

 _“Don’t_ \- how could you let me talk all of that stupid shit about how witchers never existed?!” Jaskier shoves at Geralt’s chest, uncaring of the fact that the witcher is literally holding him up. “Had a good laugh about it, did you?!”

Geralt finally looks guilty, small satisfaction though that brings. “No -” he says, swallowing harshly. “No. I’m sorry - I know I should have told you. I just - I just enjoyed being around someone who didn’t believe that my kind are as bad as the monsters we once hunted. I just wanted to be a - a _person_ to you.” 

At that, Jaskier pauses in his rage. He looks past Geralt to where Dara is standing a few feet behind. The elf nods at him shortly.

All of the anger starts to drain from Jaskier and he turns his attention back to Geralt. The witcher is holding him close already - Jaskier can feel the heat of their bodies pressed together. 

He realizes something.

The tall, handsome, whip-smart, unexpectedly funny, kinder than he’s got any reason to be, absolutely _infuriating_ man that he’s fallen for is still standing right in front of him. 

Geralt is as he ever was - now Jaskier can simply see the full picture.

And Jaskier’s no expert, but he’s pretty sure he knows what comes next.

He leans in slowly, carefully, as a familiar heat curls under his skin. 

Geralt leans in as well, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier lets his eyes fall closed to the sensation of their lips brushing together. 

It’s so soft - just how Jaskier knew it would be, and it fills him with an overwhelming, almost painful sort of lightness in his head. 

He pulls back after a second and fixes Geralt with what he hopes is a hard stare. “Still angry,” he says, and his words are strangely slow to his own ears. 

Geralt quirks his lips softly and keeps a gentle hold of him. “Suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you,” he says. 

Jaskier nods, the lightness gone from his head. Now it’s oddly heavy. 

His eyelids - they’re heavy as well. 

“Pretty sure he’s got a concussion,” Dara says, and then everything is dark once again. 

\---

“Can’t believe you’re just now allowing me to visit where you live,” Jaskier says with a teasing lilt to his voice. It’s true - it’s been several weeks since Kaer Muire and the subsequent end of the season (and the extra subsequent beginning of their relationship). 

Due to some conveniently lost footage and clever editing on Jaskier’s part, the episode watches much like any other of their investigations - a summary of the case delivered by Jaskier himself, a spirited discussion between the two of them about the likelihood of kikimore actually existing, and the hunt itself - minus Geralt’s slaying of the beast, of course. 

As a bonus, there’s enough evidence left sprinkled throughout the video that Jaskier can convincingly call the case unsolved whilst Geralt rolls his eyes in the background. 

It may not end up being the most popular episode of the season (the bruxa investigation absolutely smashed, after all), but it’s Jaskier’s favorite. He decides that as Geralt unlocks his apartment door. 

They’ve been out celebrating tonight - Yennefer told Jaskier today that the higher-ups have decided to move forward with his series. They’ve greenlit another season of Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural as well as approved his request for a partner series centered on covering true crime mysteries.

Dara had a few drinks with them at the bar, but the elf made himself scarce when Geralt looked at Jaskier over his third beer and asked him to come over, unmistakable intent present in his golden eyes.

The witcher curses as a small brown blur speeds out the open door and down the hall, and he turns to Jaskier with a pained expression. 

“I have to go get my cat,” he says, and for once, Jaskier is struck entirely dumb. 

He just stands in the doorway and props it open as Geralt retrieves his wayward pet, carrying her back in one arm with the scruff of her neck firmly clutched in his other hand. 

She’s adorable. Jaskier coos and immediately reaches out to pet her, asking, “what’s her name?”

She hisses in tandem with Geralt pulling her away from Jaskier’s outstretched hand. “Don’t touch Roach,” he says, and Jaskier feigns offense, following him into the apartment.

It’s cute, Jaskier decides. More sparse than his own place, but then Jaskier’s always been a bit of a sentimental sod, and if there’s anything he knows about Geralt, it’s that the other man is not sentimental.

Well, Jaskier thinks, watching him gently deposit Roach onto the counter and press a careful kiss upon her forehead, perhaps Geralt is more than he appears at first glance.

“You can, ah, you can sit,” Geralt says, and Jaskier realizes that he’s just been standing in the middle of Geralt’s living room, staring at all of his things, for several moments.

“Right!” Jaskier says brightly, feeling his face warm, and plunks himself down onto the couch. It’s worn and brown - actually the same color as Roach, now that he looks at them both, and did Geralt do that on _purpose?_ The plot thickens.

“Would you like something to drink?” Geralt asks awkwardly. Jaskier smiles at him, and can’t help the warmth that curls up his veins at Geralt’s clumsy attempts to be welcoming. 

“Not necessary. Just get thee over here,” Jaskier says with a flourish, opening his arms and raising his face in hopes of a kiss. 

He’s disappointed when Geralt bypasses the couch entirely, dropping Roach soundly into his lap, and mutters something like, “be right back.”

Jaskier huffs and carefully observes the cat. She’s got the most beautiful little face with a few sweet white markings over her nose and feet. 

“Hello there,” Jaskier says softly, holding his hand out for her to consider.

After a moment of sniffing, Roach primly allows Jaskier to scratch behind her ears. A small smile curls across his face when the cat starts to purr, and he imagines that Geralt is a bit of a purr-er himself.

Geralt steps back into the room with something behind his back when Roach apparently decides that she’s had enough and nips Jaskier sharply. She jumps down off of his lap and Jaskier can’t help the frown that forms as a result.

He looks up at Geralt’s soft chuckle and meets his gaze. “She’s got a strong will,” Geralt says, and Jaskier nods seriously. 

Geralt shifts on his feet and breathes in deeply, suddenly awkward. 

Jaskier furrows his brow and tilts his head, unsure of the source of the tension between them. Things have been going well thus far - lunch together more often than not, time spent collaborating on video ideas, and surreptitious kisses stolen in quiet corners. It’s been a dream, honestly. Something that young Jaskier would have hardly dared to hope for.

Perhaps Geralt is worried about how quickly they're moving.

He opens his mouth to speak at the same time as Geralt.

“I’ve really enjoyed -”

“I’ve got something for you.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. Geralt is pointedly looking at a spot below Jaskier’s left shoulder, holding tension in his shoulders.

Ah. That explains the awkwardness. Geralt is terrible with words and feelings. He’s more of an actions-speak-louder kind of guy. Except that he’s also pretty awkward with loving actions (beyond kissing Jaskier silly in empty meeting rooms). 

It’s endearing, really.

Jaskier takes pity on him, sends him a sweet smile as he stands. “Do you want me to close my eyes?”

Geralt looks like that idea never occurred to him. “Yeah,” he says quickly, sounding relieved. “That would be good.”

Jaskier hums and lets his eyes fall closed, holding his hands out. He hears Geralt take a deep breath and, after a moment, something heavy is placed into them. It’s a familiar weight -

“A guitar.”

Emotion rises in Jaskier’s chest, taking him by surprise. He opens his eyes to see Geralt watching him, this careful look on his face, and Jaskier loves him. It’s too soon, but he loves him so very much that it knocks the breath right out of his lungs.

It’s beautiful. Everything he’s missed in the years since his loss. A short, sharp breath leaves his mouth, and Jaskier realizes that he’s crying - a tear is trailing its way down the curve of his cheek.

Geralt looks concerned now, and it’s all Jaskier can do to set the gift aside reverently, run a careful finger down its neck, before he’s thrown himself into Geralt’s arms, the great idiot.

Jaskier presses their lips together and the kiss is salty and wet and it’s not quite lined up properly, but that’s okay because Geralt’s wrapping his arms around Jaskier and Jaskier’s tugging him closer, closer, please - 

“Bedroom?” He asks, breathless, and Geralt nods, unable to take his beautiful golden eyes from Jaskier’s face. Gods, it feels like the sun is gazing upon him. 

Then Geralt reaches down, lower than Jaskier’s expecting, and hooks his hands under the backs of Jaskier’s thighs, picking him up easily. He feels hot lust pool in his belly and he’s struck dumb with it, can only groan out a “fuck!”

Geralt smiles at him and it’s the youngest he’s ever looked, none of the usual tension weighing his features down. Jaskier wants to see that expression every day for the rest of his life.

“Well, get a move on then!” He snaps, mostly only to entice a laugh out of Geralt. It works, and the sound is like music to his ears as Geralt walks them into his bedroom, flicking on the switch as he goes.

Geralt drops him on the bed and Jaskier’s struggling out of his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt only to shimmy it off of his shoulders and toss it across the room unceremoniously. He pauses when Geralt’s fully undressed, taking time to admire the witcher’s body.

Broad shoulders, arms Jaskier would like to sink his teeth into, a muscled chest with just the right amount of hair. Scars dot his torso and Jaskier is seized with the urge to trace every one, find out where they came from. Perhaps later on, after -

Jaskier’s gaze slides down and his brows shoot up. He considers Geralt’s cock, standing hard and proud between his legs.

“Good gods,” Jaskier hears himself saying. “Congratulations, fuck.” Taking all of that is going to give him an out of body experience. 

Geralt glances downward and sends him a sheepish smile, giving himself a stroke.

Melitele’s silky thighs, Jaskier’s mouth is watering.

“It’s not going to be a problem, is it?” Geralt asks a little hesitantly, and Jaskier realizes that he’s just been staring at it for several long moments.

“It’s only going to be a problem if you don’t get over here right this second, Geralt. On top of me, right now,” Jaskier snarks, trying to cover his own embarrassment. Gods, he’s seen a cock before, he swears. Just maybe not so - big.

Then Geralt’s between his legs, helping him tug down his pants and underwear, and Geralt’s eyes are gleaming like he’s got a treasure at his fingertips when he traces lightly along Jaskier’s erection. His touch is gentle, reverent, and Jaskier can’t help the way he’s flushing all the way down to his chest.

He hooks an arm around the back of Geralt’s neck and tugs him down, kissing him deeply. Their cocks brush, sending shocks of electricity fizzing their way up Jaskier’s spine. He spreads his legs more and sighs when the witcher settles fully between them, giving Geralt the opportunity to lick into his mouth.

And here’s a secret: Geralt kisses like he does everything else - thoroughly and completely. 

He feels like he’s being claimed, like no one else will ever capture him so fully. Geralt’s holding him steady with a large hand spanning the side of his head and, Gods, Jaskier’s dizzy with it, drunk on the sensation of giving himself over entirely.

He drags blunt nails down Geralt’s back and pulls him in closer, bringing their cocks together once again. Jaskier’s head falls back against the pillow and Geralt lets it, nosing down to his neck to smell the very essence of him. 

And he knows Geralt’s got a bit of a scent thing, but he can’t bring himself to mind when the witcher’s hands are everywhere all at once, running over the curves and dips of Jaskier's body like he’s got to memorize every inch.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says as he continues moving downward. “Geralt, touch me, please.”

He feels like he’s going to explode, lust spinning the thoughts in his mind until he can’t make sense of them anymore. All he knows is that he _wants,_ oh -

Geralt lifts both of Jaskier’s legs over his shoulders and shudders when Jaskier tangles his fingers in his long white hair.

Then wet heat engulfs Jaskier’s cock and it’s like he short-circuits: some part of him recognizes that the noises he’s hearing are coming from his own mouth, that he’s pulling just this side of too hard on Geralt’s hair, that the witcher is humming against his skin, and he’s close, so close.

He pulls Geralt off of his cock and groans at the sight of his lips, red and gleaming from Jaskier himself. “Please,” he says, and can’t banish the pleading tone from his voice. “Please inside of me.”

“Gods, yes,” Geralt manages, and he’s shifting up the bed, nearly bending Jaskier in half to reach over him, pull a bottle of lubricant from his bedside table. He settles back, Jaskier’s legs still over his shoulders, and pops the cap, pours it over his fingers.

He makes eye contact when he reaches down between them, brushes softly against Jaskier’s entrance.

“Come on,” Jaskier pleads, so hot under his skin that he can’t stand it.

Geralt swallows shakily and presses in, and the burn is so good. A pleasure and pain he can pin all of his focus on - and Geralt’s moving, searching inside of him -

Jaskier gasps sharply, his back arching up off of the bed with white-hot pleasure when Geralt touches that spot. He sees stars when Geralt adds a second finger, twists them to press insistently against it - his thighs are shaking, his hands twisted in Geralt’s sheets.

And bless him, Geralt starts moving then, fucking Jaskier on his fingers, not filling him nearly enough, but taking the knife-sharp edge off of the desire burning through him.

Jaskier’s mouth is just hanging open and he’s letting out these little ‘ah, ah, ah’ sounds with each thrust, and if he had any sense he’d be embarrassed at how close he is just from Geralt’s fingers, but Jaskier has never claimed to be a sensible man.

Then Geralt adds a third finger and Jaskier keens, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. Geralt’s moving faster now, like he can’t wait to be inside, and Jaskier’s toes curl with the stretch, but he can’t wait either. 

“Guh - Geralt,” he stutters out, the sweet burn and pressure on his prostate almost too much, “‘m clean - please, just inside - fuck -”

And Geralt brushes his stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin on the inside of Jaskier’s knee in a nod, his golden eyes so careful even now that Jaskier’s heart stutters on a beat. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, pulling his fingers out slowly. Jaskier sobs from the sudden emptiness and nods wordlessly, blinking away the emotion that has risen in his chest.

Geralt shifts, rising to his knees, and tugs Jaskier by the hips along with him. Anticipation dances along Jaskier’s skin like electric kisses and he reaches out, rests his hand over a scar on Geralt’s chest. 

Geralt’s heart thumps under Jaskier’s palm and he lines up, pressing the blunt head of his cock to Jaskier’s hole. 

Jaskier meets his golden gaze and nods shortly, letting out a long breath as Geralt presses in. The pressure from within is too much. It’s just right. Jaskier’s eyes fall closed with the stretch - he’s so full that it feels like he’s going to split in two, hot under Geralt’s warm eyes. 

Then Geralt pulls out almost entirely, and Jaskier needs him back more than he’s ever needed anything in his life. Jaskier opens his mouth, can only groan with how much he wants. 

Fortunately, Geralt seems to understand what Jaskier needs, because he finally, blessedly starts moving. The thrusts are so hard Jaskier can feel them down to the bone, the thrill skittering its way all the way up his spine, setting off fireworks behind his eyes.

All he can do in the wake of the absolutely shattering pleasure rolling through his body is to hold on to Geralt as best he can and take it. 

And Geralt is feeling it too - his hips are stuttering as he wraps a hand around Jaskier’s leaking cock, pulls in time with his thrusts. 

“Gods, yes -” Jaskier gasps out, the pleasure suddenly rising to a crest, a tightness growing from the bottom of his tummy and radiating outwards in waves. It catches him by surprise and he gives a little shout - a sound he’ll absolutely deny later if Geralt ever brings it up - as he comes, spilling over himself and Geralt in thick white ropes. 

The comedown from his orgasm is so intense that he nearly blacks out. He vaguely feels Geralt spill inside of him, hears a low moan along with a shaky exhalation of his name from the witcher. 

Jaskier twitches involuntarily when Geralt pulls out and whines softly, frowning when Geralt retreats entirely and stands at the side of the bed. 

“Where’re you going?” He asks, the words slurred slightly. He can’t feel his legs right now. The world is so heavy around him.

“Gotta clean you up,” Geralt says, running a finger down Jaskier’s chest through his spend. “You’ve made a mess of yourself.”

The low rumble of his voice sends a residual shiver through Jaskier’s body, and he whines again, raising a hand to catch Geralt’s. Without breaking eye contact, he brings Geralt’s finger to his mouth and licks it clean, reveling in the way that the other man’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping open.

“What am I going to do with you?” Geralt asks, like Jaskier is some rare species. 

And Jaskier can’t handle the emotions that Geralt is awakening in the deep of his chest, so he goes cheeky with his answer. “Well, you’ll fuck me senseless again soon, I hope.”

That gets him a snort and chuckle, and that’s enough for the warm feeling deep inside of him to hang around even while Geralt leaves to find something to wipe them both off with. 

He’s just so - content. Like everything is going to be okay. And he’s always been optimistic more than anything else, that’s on record - 

But now he feels like he can back it up. 

\---

Later on, after they’ve cleaned up and had a little nap, Jaskier finds himself tracing patterns in Geralt’s chest hair, resting his head against the meat of the witcher’s shoulder. 

“D’you have any idea what cases you want to cover for True Crime?” Geralt asks quietly, startling him a bit. 

Jaskier melts easily enough back into Geralt’s embrace after a soothing hand strokes down his back, and Jaskier sighs and nuzzles against his skin.

Geralt presses a kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head, and he props his chin on his previously wandering hand, watching Geralt watch him with those golden eyes.

“I was thinking the Butcher of Blaviken,” he says, and Geralt blinks.

“Fuck,” he says softly and with feeling.

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact: the name of this piece was almost "sweet creature." i changed it in the eleventh hour because it just didn't fit the story exactly the way i wanted it to, and the final title came from the song "Golden." (How could I go with anything else, considering the running theme of Geralt's eyes?)
> 
> By far the weirdest thing I've ever written. If you made it this far, please give us a shout and let me know what you think! Was it an odd mashup? Was Geralt too soft? Did you enjoy watching them fall in love? Tell me about it :)
> 
> Kudos and comments absolutely mean the world to me! Thank you for reading!


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